VISIT THE HIPPY'S NEW SITE: Spend some time chilling out with the hippy...He used to be "the most shroomtastic stoner on the internet!" until the UK banned fresh magic mushrooms. He's still "the biggest internet celebrity you've never heard of!" He'll make you laugh, he'll make you think...he'll make you wish you were a hippy too!

Saturday, April 09, 2005

Get your Gmails here! I’ve got ‘em, you all want ‘em! It’s a perfect symbiotic relationship! Click here for details!

The bad news has been confirmed. From Monday, 11th April 2005, fresh magic mushrooms will no longer be legal. Thanks to the cunts in the government here, they have been reclassified, to be in the same category as cocaine and heroin. There was no discussion, no debate, no dispassionate investigation into the facts, they just fucking did it!

Unless I’ve slept through it, the UK newspapers and media as a whole have ignored this story so far. The bill was slipped through parliament quietly, when no one was looking. The only confirmation I’ve see is on an email from my friends at - the head-shop website I use the most and not just for shrooms.

I could order some today, but since I am going away for a week on Weds, it’s not practical. I do have some left from a previous purchase, but they will probably go off while I’m away. That means, potentially, last week’s big VOSS could have been my last ever little shrooming trip!

Holy mother of fuck! That’s sucks the big wet one, doesn’t it kids?

I’m not the only person in the UK who will miss them. If you believe what you read, there are thousands of other people who dig shrooms here besides me. What are we all going to do?

I’m sure if I look around hard enough, someone will still be selling them. Also, the status of grow kits hasn’t been made clear just yet. If you can still get the kits, then the problem may not be so severe. Something tells me that the grow kits will be included in this legislation, but until it is clarified, I can live in hope.

The other option is to grown them from scratch, but this is a complicated process which is easy to fuck-up. I don’t know that I will have the time, patience or technical know-how to do it anyway.

So this might really be it. I might actually have to start billing myself as “previously the most shroomtastic stoner on the internet”. This really sucks ass.

Fuck you, you ignorant cunt-ass mother-fucker politician scumcunts! How dare you tell me what fucking vegetables I can and can’t eat! Fungus is FUN and you’ve ruined it, without even understanding what it is you’ve ruined. You’re all ignorant shitbags, unworthy of the air you breath. I hope all your children become smackheads who sell their underage asses on the street for pocket change just to score their next fix!

That sure showed ‘em! They won’t mess with the hippy again!

I’m not feeling so well today, kids and this is because of a little trip to the doctor I made yesterday. Earlier in the week, I discovered a small bump on one of my testicles.

Yuck, ick and oh my fucking god!

It’s been a while since I’ve written anything this personal, so enjoy it while you can.

A few days ago, I noticed my right ball was hanging a bit funny, it felt heavier and when sitting without wearing any undies, it was rubbing against my leg in a most unusual way.

Being totally paranoid, I assumed it was cancer and I was going to have to have my bollocks chopped off. That’s the way my mind works.

Because of my bizarre work-pattern, I wasn’t able to see my doctor until Friday, which meant I had a couple of anxious days waiting with this weighing heavily on my mind. I was finally able to see my doc yesterday.

The surgery I use is a 5 minute drive from my house and they offer a good feature, if you phone them first thing in the morning, they hold a few appointments back that can be booked on the day.

For an NHS surgery, which has tons of patients, this facility is fantastic. It means you can almost always get to see your own doctor when you need to.

I’ve been going to this GP for nearly 8 years and I’m lucky to have quite a good one. Overall, my health is pretty good, except for a long term stomach problem that I’ve written about here before, but because of that ailment, I do see my GP a few times a year to review my medication, so I know him quite well.

The waiting room was packed, as it often is, because it is such a busy surgery. My doctor is never, or rarely on-time, which is a bad thing when you are waiting, but a good thing once you see him. He’s always late because he never rushes you and always takes the time to listen to your complaint.

When I finally got in to see him, I told him straight away what my concern was. He put on a pair of rubber gloves and asked me to drop my trousers. A testicle exam is performed with the patient standing up, while the doctor sits on a chair in front of you.

He grabbed my balls, one at a time and gave them an alarmingly firm examination. What he found, thank fuck, was not a tumour, but an infection in my epididymis. Your epididymis is a duct that has something to do with sperm production. It’s part of your fun plumbing as opposed to your urine plumbing.

He prescribed me some anti-inflammatories as well as a really strong antibiotic and referred me to the urologist for an ultrasound on my nuts. The antibiotic has been making me feel a bit nauseous as well as emotional, but I only need to take it for a week. Unless the pain continues, then I might need to continue it for a second week.

It’s all a big drag, since I’m going away on Weds, but at least I dealt with it. I was pretty scared by the whole thing, though at least my doctor is fairly certain it’s nothing more serious than an infection. That’s serious enough!

It’s funny, what goes through your head, when confronted with something like this. I wasn’t afraid of dying, actually I think I found that possibility less worrying than a life without my testicles. That must sound profoundly silly, but as I was thinking about all of this, I kept coming back to this: “If it’s cancer, I wish it was cancer of any other part of my body, anything but my balls.”

Yes, I know that is stupid, immature and a host of all sorts of other things, but that was my honest reaction. I’d rather be dead than survive without my balls.

I’m sure, if actually confronted with this choice, I’d end up choosing to sing soprano and having some more time left on earth, but in that moment of terror, that’s what I came up with.

You see, it’s not all drugs and jokes and my amazing animal magnetism around here, I tell you the shit I don’t tell anyone else.

Sorry if any of this grossed anyone out or offended anyone who survived cancer. My father died of bladder cancer about 7 months ago and the last year of his life was miserable as he battled this killer and lost. Cancer scares me, cancer is the great leveller.

I always use the Beatles example on cancer. Money can usually spare you all sorts of ills, but cancer’s not one of them. Just ask Linda McCartney and George Harrison. They both had Beatles money, which is more money than you and I could ever imagine having. It gave them both the resources to do whatever it took to keep themselves alive, no matter what the cost.

And where are they now? They’re not. They died. If the big “C” is going to get you, there’s nothing you can do about it.

I’m not saying people don’t survive it, you hear remarkable stories of courage and recovery as well. But if it is gonna get you, it’s gonna get you, no matter how hard you fight.

Enough of this morbid shit.

This entire entry has been a real downer, between the ban on shrooms coming into force and my balls needing medical attention. It can’t always be about my new toys and cool music and fun! Sometimes reality gets a look-in too!
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